


Rosemary For Remembrance

by Ambrose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: Clarke opens her own flower shop - and somehow falls for one of her most regular customers.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tveckling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/gifts).



A lot of people thought Clarke was selling herself short by opening a flower shop. Her mother, for one, who still thought being a doctor was the way to go for her daughter too. But Clarke had always loved plants, the weirder the better, and she had decided that, once she made enough of a profit, she'd give some to charities to protect the environment. She was determined to make her shop eco-friendly. 

Two other advantages that made her take the leap was her love of people. She could see all kinds of people, help them pick flowers for a loved one they were going to meet, or console them when someone had passed away. She loved the contact, and she felt useful in most of these transactions. And whenever no-one was there and she was done taking care of her plants, she could still draw, and even paint. She was her own boss, so no-one was going to fire her for doodling instead of sweeping the floor for the first time that day. She'd even arranged the back room so that whatever space wasn't used to stock flowers could be used for her paints and easels, and on slow days she could retreat there until she heard the doorbell. 

It was on such a day that she walked back into the shop, her apron and fingers covered in paint, to find the most beautiful girl standing in front of the counter. Clarke asked what the woman wanted before she was caught staring. 

The girl, who until then had been wistfully staring into the distance, focused on her, and suddenly smiled. "You got paint on your cheek," she said as she pointed at her own left cheekbone. 

Clarke smiled back, and rubbed at it with the back of her hand, slightly self-conscious now. "Sorry. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, actually, I'd like a bouquet of red roses? please?" 

Clarke helped her pick her flowers, then moved behind the counter to arrange them into a proper bouquet. 

"Someone's gonna be very happy," she said, trying to make conversation, but also meaning every word of it. Whoever this girl was gifting flowers to must be the happiest person in the world, and Clarke was feeling slightly jealous. Of someone she'd never seen. _Get it together, Griffin_ , she told herself, picturing how much her friends would mock her if they could see her right then. 

The girl only gave her a small smile, almost sad, and Clarke didn't quite know what to make of it. Was this an apology bouquet? It wasn't her place to ask, and she would never know, as the girl paid and left with only her thanks and goodbyes. She probably would never see her again, and why was she so sad about it, when it was just a stranger she'd just met. Even if she was the most beautiful of strangers.

 

As it turned out, she saw this stranger again. And again. And again. Once a week, at the same time, like clockwork, she would come in and ask for a bouquet of roses. They would chat a bit, the usual small talk Clarke enjoyed so much with her clients in general, but with this one in particular. They never really broached the reason behind the flowers again, or their recipient. Clarke didn't want to ask. She didn't want to make this woman sad, all she really wanted was to make her happy, to see her smile. 

She started looking forward to these days when she'd come in, started to dress up a bit better for the occasion, even though her effort were hidden most of the time behind a painter's or gardener's apron. She also didn't dare show it to anyone, but her paintings had started to contain "her" stranger's face more and more, often surrounded by flowers of all sorts and colours - although red did suit her most. In her dreams, she was the one giving her the bouquet of roses.

It was getting ridiculous! This woman, she didn't even know her name! And she was getting a bouquet of roses for _someone_ , a very lucky person, and she seemed a bit happier every week, so obviously she had someone in her life, and things were getting better than when she'd first come to Clarke's shop. And no matter how wishful and jealous Clarke might get, that was none of her business. She shouldn't, wouldn't, get into her life. She could have fallen for literally anyone else, but no, it had to be her best client. Most gorgeous best client, might she add. Who'd probably be creeped out and never come back to her shop if she ever saw her paintings. Not that she ever painted anything too risky, no, she didn't dare. Those images were kept to herself, in the recesses of her imagination. Which she cursed regularly. 

If ever Octavia or Raven learned about this, they'd never let it go. She, Clarke Griffin, had fallen for the cheesiest, most inaccessible woman in the world, who was so in love with her partner she bought them flowers every week. And she was the one to give these flowers to her, acting like it was the most normal of business transactions - and it was! She did it all day long! - and painting even cheesier portraits of her crush when no-one was looking... Raven would be so happy to mock her!

She'd also tell her she should get laid, and to be fair, she would be right. But it felt wrong, somehow. She'd had her fair share of one night stands and friends with benefits, but she also wanted something more serious now. Octavia would probably choose that time to pipe in and say that she'd fallen for her stranger precisely because she was perfect, and inaccessible. She wouldn't be wrong either.

 

She learned her name by accident.

"Here you go, miss," she said with a joking smile, handing her her bouquet one day. She'd even started preparing them in advance so she'd just have to take them out of the water and give them to her.

"It's Lexa," the woman corrected her softly. Lexa. Such an unusual name. It suited her well. Clarke shook herself, handing Lexa her money. Trying not to brush her hand with hers. This was her weekly torture. And now she could put a name to it.

 

One week, however, a bit over a year after the first time she came into Clarke's shop - not that she was counting -, Lexa didn't come in. Clarke tried not to worry - any number of things could have happened, like she might be feeling unwell (not that that was reassuring), or her partner was absent for some reason and she couldn't give her flowers. Maybe she'd found better flowers elsewhere, and though the thought hurt, it was better than to think anything bad had happened to Lexa. 

Clarke liked to think they'd become friends, over the year that had passed, or at least acquaintances. Sometimes, when work was quiet, Lexa would stick around to keep her company, chatting away the time til other clients came in or she realised she really had to leave. Even if they talked of all and nothing, she felt like she'd gotten to know her. So she may feel a bit stupid to worry about her not coming that day, but one always worries for her friends, right? It wasn't just her crush acting up and making her worry for someone she didn't know; not anymore.

When, the week after, she still didn't come, Clarke thought about calling the police for a moment, but then she  realised all she had was a first name, and a sloppy explanation. They'd just tell her she was being paranoid and to let it go... Clarke felt helpless.

When Lexa walked into her shop the week after, Clarke had to refrain from running to her and hugging her. At least she looked happy, so nothing bad must have happened. She silenced her previous worry with the reassurance that Lexa was alright, and even though she had questions, she did not ask them.

"The usual?"

"Actually, I'll just take one rose this time."

Clarke raised her eyebrows, but did not comment. "Alright, well, pick the one you like best, and I'll just ring you up!"

Lexa took her time, and when she finally came to the counter and paid for her single rose, she didn't keep it long. "Here," she said, handing it back to Clarke over the counter. "It's for you. I've realised I've been coming here every week for a year now, and... I really enjoy your company. I'd like to take you out on a date. If you'd like, of course."

Clarke's mind just blanked. "What." 

"Oh. Well, it's okay if you don't, it's just..." Lexa was still holding her rose, sadly now.

"I mean, are you making fun of me or something?" Clarke finally found her voice. "What about your partner?! You get them roses every week, but you don't mind inviting me on a date? I really didn't think you were that kind of person."

"Oh, no, you misunderstood." 

Clarke deflated. She probably meant a friend date. People sometimes do that, right? And now she'd made a fool of herself. Or, come to think of it, she might have broken up with that person in the past two weeks, who knew? But Lexa went on, letting the rose fall on the counter to press her hands against it, holding it like a buoy in a storm, knuckles white. 

"I don't... buy them for a partner. Well, yes. I do. But..." She took a deep breath, clearly upset, close to tears now. "It's been a year. That I... bring her flowers every week. Her name was Costia, and she passed away last year. It seems silly, but we'd been together like forever, and she loved flowers so much!"

Tears were running freely down her cheeks now, and she was doing nothing to stop them. She never talked about Costia. To anyone. 

Clarke reached over the counter to take her hands, squeezing them gently. "I'm sorry, Lex, I... I shouldn't have assumed. It's... It's really not silly, you know. I can tell you love her."

"I do, yes," Lexa sniffled. "I did. But I can't keep pretending she's still alive. That I can bring her flowers every week and make her smile. I can't tell her about my day and hold her and be with her. All that's just... gone. And it was the anniversary of her death the other day, and I went there as usual, and I sat there, and I thought. And you know, she would have wanted me to go on with my life, to be happy. She'd never forgive me if she knew I lived in the past. And I think she'd really like you. It took me a moment to reach that decision but I have to move on. I want to move on. I really like you, Clarke. And I had a feeling it was mutual. And I know it's complicated for me right now, and I'd understand if you didn't want to... but..."

Clarke squeezed her hand again. "Stay here."

"What are you doing?"

Clarke delicately took the rose, her rose, from the counter, and set it in a solitary vase, before she disappeared in the back room. She came back with her coat on, wrapping her scarf around her neck. 

"What are you doing, Clarke?" Lexa repeated, as Clarke moved through her store to grab different flowers, lilies and roses and white daisies, constructing a beautiful bouquet. 

"Well..." She had been so sure of her move til then, but now it felt awkward. Like she was invading. "You're the best person I've ever met, I think. Like, I can't even begin to comprehend... And she obviously meant the world to you. So... I'd like to pay homage. If that's not too weird." 

She wasn't too sure what she expected, but certainly not for Lexa to wrap her in her arms and hold her close. she barely had time to get the bouquet she was holding out of the way. 

"I mean, I'd get it if you didn't want to— if you prefer to keep that to yourself," she whispered into the hug. She pulled back to look at her. Lexa was smiling, despite the tears that still clouded her eyes. 

"Please!"

"Okay then. Shall we?" Clarke extended a hand to Lexa, holding the door for her. She turned around the "Open" sign to "Closed", and locked the door before Lexa linked her fingers with those of her free hand again, leading the way. 

This was not what she'd ever pictured a first date to be like, and it was definitely awkward and weird, and besides it didn't really count as their first date (the lunch they had together later that day did), but Clarke wanted to be there for Lexa. She knew Lexa needed this, needed to finally be able to talk about Costia to someone who'd understand, to be listened to. Friends are there for each other, and they were friends first and foremost. Even if that marked the beginning of something else, something new; they would always be. 

**Author's Note:**

> (I should get sued for every time I use a quote completely out of context for my titles)


End file.
